Being
by Herr Fritz
Summary: There was something radiating from that youngling human made that one of the slender folk rise up from the cold and fog. It made it experience…being. The last of the slender folk searches for that joy that can only come from being, and finds the one child that may hold the warmth that his people had spent millenia searching for-John. Sherlock/Slenderman Slenderlock AU. M for themes
1. Beginning

**Sherlock/Slenderman AU. I do love writing this, something so out of my general repertoire. The biggest difference…the plot. For the first time with a story, I have absolutely no idea where I'll go with this. The feeling is simply delightful. **

**So please, if you have any ideas, requests, 'anti-requests' (i.e: **_**please**_** don't kill *blank*) let me know in a review. And, as always, please let me know if you like the story. **

**HF**

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There were thousands of them.

None of them could name the demon who had spawned them all out of spite for life, but they could only curse that being who had condemned them to a damned existence.

They must have been half-human, if their bodies' forms were any sort of clue; though what human towered over the village houses and had arms as manipulateable as snakes remained unknown. The other half of their parentage was some rank of vile creature. Sometimes the bravest among them tried to imagine what _it_ could have looked like, but they couldn't make it further than spider-thin appendages and faceless horrors before collapsing into a mass of limbs in fear.

They thought their existences would remain cold forever, that the only thing to break the monotony of _being_ was imagining.

Then the humans came.

The humans arose from tribes, forming villages, forming societies, forming families, clans, and relationships.

And when they met _them_, forming fear.

Shortly after they met the humans, the humans became warriors, forming armies and watchmen, forming weapons to kill _them_, they who came with fog, cold, and death.

They didn't want the humans at first. The hostility toward them had been unprovoked. It wasn't until one of them stumbled upon a youngling who had gotten lost that they even had interest in the humans.

That one of them came into contact with the youngling- a creature that seemed death couldn't touch, with strands of sun coming from its head, coverings made in the colors of the flowers, and a sound emitting from its face like the birds' songs.

There was something radiating from that youngling human made that one of them rise up from the cold and fog. It made it experience…being.

So the first of _them_ opened the youngling, hoping to find that thing inside that made them feel as if they had _being_.

There was nothing there, only the organs that kept the human youngling functioning. The first of _them_ tried to put them back, but the youngling didn't work again.

The _being_ was gone. The first of them was left again with its curse.

_All _of them were left with their curses.

The only hope that they had had been found in a youngling. By the time the grown humans had found the creature, dead and hidden in a tree, it was too late. The word had spread among _them_, and they all began to search for that glimpse of being that one of them had found.

They sought after the children.

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They were all named after their curses.

Some names were terrifying- The Soul Freezer, Organ Riper, The Arms That Snatch. Those took cues from their names and fell to the lowest conditions of living- taking more children than they needed, wasting the corpses instead of taking delight in the art of disembowelment, and doing the forbidden: taking the humans who had grown.

And then there was that one. The one of them whose name was a riddle.

Sure Lock.

The eldest sibling, The Operator, often pondered to the meaning of that enigma. He often expressed his belief that Sure Lock's curse was so devastating that not even the strongest measure of life from a child could break that sure binding that kept him indifferent and make his sibling _be_.

Sure Lock was the black sheep of them, the _slender folk_, as the humans had titled them. He never sought a child, never opened one to see if he could capture that _being_ that was so coveted.

That was probably the reason he survived through the centuries.

Over the decades, the endless years that faded into each other, the thousands of them got greedy. They took too many of the children and ignited the wrath of the grown. Somehow, the humans banded together and began to kill, using light and good, numbers and righteousness to fade _them_ into nothing.

Soon, they numbered only into the dozens.

Then there were ten.

Then there were only two. The Operator and Sure Lock.

There was barely enough room for the two as it was. The humans had advanced; building empires that grew and collapsed, cultures that opened gateways for new ideas, eras that burst into the industrial age, the age of wars, then finally the information age. Through the expansion, Sure Lock was unfeeling.

Then came London.

Then came that spring day, where the snow drifts were just starting to melt.

Then came the golden child.

Then came _John._

_/-/_


	2. Meeting

**I know it took a while for the next chapter to come out, but University is a killer! It may be a while between chapters from here on out (nothing so long as this gap, though), but I promise one thing: I **_**never**_** abandon a story. Can't bear to. So buckle up, because things are about to get…slender.**

**/-/**

He was just a little boy sitting on a swing at a playground. Easy prey. Easy meal. Easy death. Sure Lock knew that if the Operator were here, he would have opened him as easily as shadow cuts through a sunbeam. Sure Lock, on the other hand, was content to wait and watch. He had gone his entire existence without needing to mutilate a child. He felt no need to change his habits now.

Not needing to _kill_ a child didn't mean he couldn't _play_ with them, though.

So Sure Lock learned the boy's character. He learned that his name was John, that he had a sister named Harriet, was proud of all the friends he had, and that he was nine, _the perfect age to frighten_.

John was a natural light. He fixed other children when they got hurt, and he comforted them when other children teased them.

Humans were odd creatures, Sure Lock had determined. They fought and killed among their own, but found it abhorrent when the Slender Folk did the same to them. John; however, was a different sort altogether. He never was contradictory. His simplicity made him ornate. It made him…a _being._

Just the sort of being that Sure Lock would reduce to a shell of a youngling. And centuries of practice ensured he knew how to do that.

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It was Tuesday. That meant John would be at the playground alone. All the other children left well before the sun met the horizon, and John habitually remained by himself for several hours before trudging to the other side of town back home.

Still, Sure Lock remained by the edge of woods until he was sure no grown humans would arrive. It wouldn't do for his fun to be spoiled by one he might have to kill.

John was on the swings, not quite swinging, just sort of swaying there. He had a hat on, still feeling the spring chill, and a wooly, gray jumper.

Sure Lock was ready. He stepped out from the trees.

The effect was almost immediate. John's hands balled into little fists. He pulled his hat down as far as it would go and tucked his chin into the neck of his jumper. Around the park, the birds stopped chirping.

Sure Lock took another step. This time, the crickets halted their music. John's hands tucked themselves into his pockets.

Another stride, ten feet close. Frost spread over the grass. There was the soft creak from the teeter-totter as the axel slowly rusted.

Then he was there, behind John. The boy stiffened- he hadn't heard anything, hadn't seen anything, but knew something was there. Then, oh so suddenly, he turned.

Sure Lock stood there, tall, thin, _terrifying_. He wanted to watch the boy scream, watch him run, hide, and fear the dark…

"Hi," the boy's breath was shallow, face pale. "Who are you?"

Sure Lock didn't respond. How could he? He had no mouth. Why would he want to? He wanted to watch the boy squirm, watch him flee in fear. He just stood, silent, when all of the sudden, the boy smiled.

At that moment, the cold in Sure Lock's chest broke. He _felt_ something.

"I'm John. John Watson," the boy continued. Sure Lock just stood, swaying in the frigid wind. "Gosh, I'm sorry!" the boy hopped out of the swing, thrusting his hand out. "My mom always told me to shake someone's hand when I meet them."

He stood there looking up, waiting so expectantly that Sure Lock had to do something. He bent over, like a line curving to the earth, down to meet John's hand. He took it in his own, marveling at the warmth coming from it. The boy- no- _John_, pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

"Are you going to play with me?"

He asked with such hope that Sure Lock knew he couldn't help but nod. He white head moved up and down, languid, deliberate.

"Great!" John was quick to get into the spirit. "Mom always says I can't go into the woods alone. But you'll come with me, so we'll be okay!"

Seizing Sure Lock's hand, he began them on their way to the woods. Sure Lock's slender legs carried him with ease, but there was a war directing his thoughts. _Take him! He's coming into the woods willingly, the lamb tempting the lion! Open him…find that being that makes the younglings so precious…sieze himopenhimeathim…_

No. He couldn't deny that glorious warmth hat radiated from john- he couldn't deny that it made his chest unclench, feel a little less icy- but he refused to kill him.

He wouldn't end up like The Operator, his brother. The fool was beginning to lose his form eating so many children.

So he walked with John, guiding him through the woods until night fell. And if John didn't notice the chill they couldn't escape, the silence reigning in the glade, or the fact dark fell sooner than it should have, Sure Lock wouldn't bring any attention to it.

**/-/**

**As always, read and review! And if you missed the dead things in the first chapter, don't worry. There'll be more of that later :P**


	3. Watching

**If it seems like things are moving a little slowly…they are. Things will kick off a lot more when 'Sure Lock' gets more involved in John's adult life.**

**/-/**

Sure Lock watched John grow. Those years were the best of his existence. He was there when John climbed all the way to the top of the old pine at the edge of the forest- he even reached up to the top to bring John down once the boy realized just _how_ far up he was. He ran with John. He listened to John, let him complain about his dad being gone all the time and how upset his mum would be when she found out her daughter preferred being called _Harry_ by the 'rough' girls at school. He observed as John's family got a dog, a beautiful golden retriever quickly dubbed 'Gladstone.' He peered in the window at night as John fell asleep, tapping out a gentle rhythm on windowpane those few nights John tossed and turned.

Sure Lock watched John grow _up_. Those were the worst times. He saw John come home with a bloody nose, courtesy of a bully named Sebastian Wilkes. If John was suspicious about the broken leg and terrified demeanor Sebastian had after returning from a camping trip the week after, he never brought it up to Sure Lock.

He listened to John talk about all the pretty girls in his class, Jeanette one week, Margit the next, ending with a _real, actual_ date with Isabel. He was glad that John was happy, but when he saw the two young people _kissing_ on the sidewalk, he determined that was something he just could not abide. The next day Isabel's front door was littered with dead mice and birds, all frozen to death. It was only the beginning of fall.

He watched with detached interest as Gladstone ran rampant in the backyard each night, barking and howling at _something_ lurking in the woods. Eventually, the Watsons had to put him down for the sake of protecting the neighbor children- he attacked anything that came near him and refused to calm down, _especially_ during the night.

He peered in the window the weeks after that happened, tapping out apologies to a heartbroken John, because he saw that John _knew_ the dog's death was because of his tall friend.

He watched from the trees as John's family gathered, celebrating his sixteenth birthday. John wasn't a child anymore. It was the most wrenching experience of Sure Lock's existence.

Sure Lock saw all the good things happen, but he noticed the bad too. There was the day he walked with John after he had been caught in a rainstorm. Before going inside, John had thrown himself at Sure Lock's legs, hugging him incessantly before going in the door. John loved being with him, but he couldn't hide the coughs that plagued him days after spending time with the slender man. Colds, headaches, ringing in his ears, dizziness… John's being was there, but his body was failing.

That's how Sure Lock knew. He knew all along, but he finally accepted the truth- John was crossing the threshold from youngling to grown. He was popular with the females and men his age. He didn't need a friend no one else saw or believed in. His _being_ was growing each day, tempting Sure Lock more and more with each passing hour. When even The Operator was drawn to the household late one night, lusting after that tasty aura of warmth and light, Sure Lock knew.

He couldn't be around John anymore.

So that night, Sure Lock tapped out a final rhythm for John Watson, even though the young man lay prone, deep in sleep. He looked at that face one last time, then turned and walked away.

For the first time in years, the frost melted from around the Watson home.

Yes, John would be done with Sure Lock. But even as he turned his back on the most marvelous _being_ he had ever faced, Sure Lock knew deep in his chest that _he_ was not done with John Watson.

**/-/**

**Thanks for being patient and leaving such kind reviews as I try to keep on schedule here!**


	4. Avenging

**Little Johnny's growing up! I want to thank all the wonderful people who have reviewed and added this story to alert. It's the little things like that that keep encouraging me to write when I don't feel like cranking out that 'one more sentence.'**

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John seemed to adapt to a Sure Lock-less life with no difficulty. The next day he stepped out his front door, cast a curious look around when no slender man appeared, then continued on his way to school.

That seemed to be the end of his childhood-the erasing of his imaginary friend. Little did he know his 'imaginary' friend was still watching over him.

When John left home, it was Sure Lock who followed his car cross-state, all the way to Barts. John would never know about the drunk, reckless driver who would have crashed into him halfway through his trip. Sure Lock ensured that the imbecile met an accident _long _before he and John crossed paths.

When John became quite the ladies man at University, Sure Lock carefully screened each potential partner thoroughly. Unfortunately, none passed his scrutiny. Eventually, be it after one date or a couple months, each woman John made 'acquaintance' with would find an ominous symbol on her door- a circle with dark red 'X' over it. By the time John was in his third year, only transfer students would date him.

Sure Lock knew this wasn't right- no Slender Folk had ever gotten so involved with a youngling before- John wasn't even a youngling anymore- but somewhere over the years, the line had blurred between prey and _mine_.

John Watson _was_ Sure Lock's. The Slender Man would act as his protector, his friend, his shadow that never went away; but in the end, he wanted that golden, beautiful _being_ that John had. From the moment he had first sensed it, he had lay claim on it, and would not let it escape his watchful gaze.

So when John was deployed to Afghanistan, five years to the day after enlisting, Sure Lock followed him. The Slender Man hated the sun and the sand and the heat that _burned_, not like the gentle warmth John had. He could ignore the scorching sun though, as long as he could stay by what was his. The only thing that caused him pain was his golden boy.

Every so often when John left his tent, he would send a confused look around his surroundings, much like that day Sure Lock had left him. It was like he knew something was watching him, following him, though he never called for his slender friend like he used to do as a child. Sometimes his friends would tease him. Over time, those curious glances turned to anxiety. His comrade Bill Murray would ask what had gotten 'Three Continents' Watson spooked, but John never answered. Sure Lock wondered if John even remembered his old friend.

The pain Sure Lock endured finally paid off one day, nearly a year into John's deployment. John and his men were on convoy, leaving an American base after a particularly long sandstorm, when they were ambushed.

It was the IED that did the most damage. Thankfully John was in the third Hummer down the line, so most of the brute force had been diverted. Even so, the soldiers had gotten out of their damaged vehicles and began taking shelter behind the metal.

"Murray! Do you have a position?" John yelled to his friend. It a while before he got a response.

"Yes, sir!" Murray sounded far away, yet Sure Lock saw that he was just on the other side of an upturned Hummer. "Two o'clock, behind the hill there!"

Sure Lock watched in growing horror as John crouched around the corner of his vehicle. He was facing the direction Murray had instructed…but his back was completely open.

He didn't see the man behind him.

The man was covered in tan clothes, a good ten feet away from John. Close enough to kill him, yet too far for Sure Lock to stop him.

So Sure Lock stood.

It was no easy feat to remain hidden in a land without woods, fog, or frost, but Sure Lock had managed. Now he stood, high upon a dune, before John, before the firefight, tall, slender, and full of his inglorious terror.

The man wasn't watching, but John saw. The effect was immediate; John's eyes flew up, following the dark figure as he rose above the crowd. His jaw gaped open, his eyes widened, and he showed something Sure Lock had never seen from him before. _Fear_.

With a jolt, John stood. At that same moment, the man behind him fired.

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John was rushed to a base hospital as soon as the ambush was over. There he received the good news and bad news. The bad news was that his shoulder was ruined- it would take months to recover, and he may never regain the same level of strength he had pre-injury. The good news was that it was only his shoulder that was shot.

"You were lucky," the doctor had tried to focus on the positive, even as he had shook his head. "If you hadn't stood, that bullet would have gone straight into your skull."

When John asked about the man who got him, he had gotten murmurs in response. The next patrol to have gone past the attack point had seen a massacre. There were bodies torn apart, guns broken in half, but not a single piece of evidence showing an attack from grenade or bomber.

After he was honorably discharged, John took a small flat alone in London. He couldn't bear to leave the city, even with his meager army pension dwindling away each week. As soon as he could, he began therapy with Ella, a nice woman, if a bit self-possessed. Even as he shared his trauma, his loneliness and anger at what had happened, he knew that _she_ knew he was holding back. There was something he wasn't sharing.

John was fine with that. He would be happy to never mention that unnatural being- to never _think_ of that creature again, that _thing_ that terrified him, yet reminded him of a childhood friend nonetheless.

But even as he faded, John was being watched. His _being_ was at stake, and his slender shadow would not risk losing the most precious thing about his boy.

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**I was thinking, because I'll be trying to fit in extra characters into this story, I'll need some help on how to squeeze people like Henry Knight and Sarah into the story…so here's a little challenge! In a review, let me know what character you think should make a cameo, and what their role/profession/characteristic should be. If it ends up being used in the story, you get a shout-out, imaginary hugs from the Slenderman, and the chapter gets dedicated to you!**


	5. Transforming

**I've heard some great things about characters in this AU. I won't be able to reveal them until later, but for now, let's get to some more Sure Lock. **

**/-/**

It had been centuries since Sure Lock had even spoken to The Operator, so it was unexpected when he surfaced in the heart of the Orient, interrupting his brother mid-feast on a delicate youngling girl.

_Brother_. If slender folk were capable of such human emotions as surprise, such a thing would be evident in The Operator at his brother's words.

_It's been a while. Last time we met you said I was no kin of yours_._ What's changed now?_

_His being is fading_. Sure Lock had pleaded to The Operator. He knew the other knew who he was talking about. _It has to be stopped_.

The Operator stood tall, imposing. _What has to be stopped? His being?_ A shadow resembling a sickening smile fell over his face. _I would be honored to open him._

_Don't play dumb_. Sure Lock seemed to radiate the words of annoyance. _He's fading- every day he seems…more like us_.

_How do you propose to fix that? _The Operator scoffed at his brother's words.

_I'll become more like him._

Out of all the responses Sure Lock could have given, this was the one The Operator had not expected. _You'll do what?_

_You _are_ acting like an imbecile today, aren't you? _Sure Lock grew taller in intimidation_. You know it's possible. It's just that none of us have tried before_.

_Why?_ Was all The Operator could ask_. Why risk so much for a human- not even a youngling- for prey?_

_It's for his being_.

It was decided.

John's being was fading by the day, so time became the enemy. The place had to be perfect- not too close to society that the humans would sense the discord and evil in the air, but not so secluded that Sure Lock would be lost when he became human.

They settled on the outskirts of Dartmoor, not too far from Baskerville. With all the superstition and rumor surrounding the place, a strange man wandering about would seem more like accepted fiction than fact.

Sure Lock stood alone in a field. He didn't know what The Operator would do, but tension rose from his core. Whatever followed would be agony, petrifying, _divine_.

_I'm ready_. Sure Lock nodded. The Operator had gestured for him to stand alone in a field.

_You should really prepare yourself._

_I don't need to prepare._ Sure Lock spread his arms- all of them- out. _Do it. _So the operator did.

Sure Lock should have prepared.

The Operator had lifted his hands in the air, summoning all the power he could channel, then thrust them at Sure Lock. The effect was immediate- an icy blast of air hit him with a force never felt together. He was a tree being uprooted from the frosted ground and thrown through the air, a mighty wall trying to withstand cataclysmal forces, only to crack and topple at his breaking point. He fought to keep his eyes trained on his brother, who was moving his arms in a strange symbol- a shape he hadn't seen since his brothers and sisters had roamed the earth. A circle with a jagged 'X' crossing over it.

A circle for wholeness. An 'X' for elimination.

Sure Lock couldn't take the hurricane any longer. The cold was biting in his suit, his legs were burning- prickling- the ends felt dead and stumpy, like they were falling off, the winds carrying them away. There was a ripping sound audible over the hushed roar of the winds, a stabbing sensation in his face, above his chin, two piercings in the center, two at his brow, one on each side of his head_. Mouth. Nose. Eyes. Ears_. Fascinating.

Something else was happening. As Sure Lock kept his sight trained on his brother, he became increasingly aware of a steady pounding in his chest, growing faster and faster. _A heart_. But why was it beating so fast_. Fear, a physiological response to the sight of The Operator_, _a creature my instinct identifies as a predator_.

There was something else though, something gnawing at Sure Lock's rapidly shrinking body. It overpowered the pain, the fascination, the oddness. _Weariness_. Sure Lock was going through too much, and his weakening body was feeling the toll. The tiredness ate at him, masking the receding winds and coldness that crept in as The Operator came closer to check his handiwork. He was undone, unfocused. He didn't register his brother depart. He hazed through the remainder of the night, the two horny teenagers who had stumbled across his body, their frantic reactions and police call.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Shit man, it he _dead_?"

"Nah, he's breathing...hello? Do we wait for an ambulance or what?"

"What did the lady on the phone say?"

"She said they'll get here as soon as they can…"

At that point Sure Lock may have grunted, or maybe have rolled his head to the side, because it had lead to a new round of screams and flustered first-aid proposals until the paramedics had arrived. Then it was a flurry of activity and barked orders from one orderly to the next, until a sharp, in-charge woman's voice cut through the confusion.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Sure Lock wasn't sure if he could- the words were so clouded they easily could have been dreamed up in his state. Even so, he attempted a moan.

"My name is Irene Adler. I'm with the Dartmoor EMT. I need you to tell me, what's your name?"

Sure Lock opened his mouth-his _mouth_- to answer, but there were such strange things in the way of his voice. A mouth wasn't just a gash on the face making two lips. There were rows of hard, clunking rocks, and what _was_ that flap resting on the bottom of it? It was sticky, moist, and everything tasted strange…

"Shur…Sure Lock…"

His words came out slurred, yet he was amazed to find he could form sounds at all.

"Sherlock? Sir, do you know your last name?" Hands were feeling all over him. "He's deathly cold, probably suffering from hypothermia. I need an IV stat. Get him onto a stretcher, he'll need to…"

The woman's voice drifted into white noise as Sure Lock closed his eyes. Never before had he felt so cold…so tired…

Sure Lock's thoughts fell into chaos, and for the first time in his existence, he fell asleep. The next time he would wake, he would be _Sherlock_.

**/-/**

**What can I say about Sure Lock? His body was not ready :P **


	6. Personifying

**Well, I'm embarrassed. I've been incredibly busy and away from fanfiction for quite a while, and only recently got to check some reviews. Azith, a reader, left a very kind review, but also tactfully pointed out/asked how Mycroft could know Sherlock.**

**That's when I realized. Months ago, when I last posted, I posted the chapter **_**ahead**_** of what was supposed to go up. No wonder it was so confusing! I am incredibly sorry for the confusion, incredibly grateful to Azith for being so kind in how they pointed it out, and incredibly chagrined I was away for so long! So here is the correct chapter (followed by the old/next chap)!**

**/-/**

He woke to an uncomfortable hospital bed, an irritating beeping, and a stranger in his room.

"I see you're registered under the name 'Sherlock,' the stranger spoke, a man going by his voice. "I wonder if that's your ancient name, or something you fancied out of thin air when you became human."

"Neither. It was a mistake." Oh younglings, Sherlock's throat was _aching_ from talking. Pain. He was feeling actual pain.

"A mistake?" There were footsteps, the man coming closer to the bed. "If a name as ridiculous as that isn't what you're called, I'd hate to hear what it really is!"

"Cut the small talk. I'm still getting used to having a mouth, so I don't want to waste my efforts on trivial things. You said 'when I became human.' How did you know?" Sherlock pursed his lips. "How could you have known I'm a Slender Man?"

He opened his eyes. At his feet was indeed a man, taller than most, but not particularly spectacular in appearance. He had a large nose, cunning eyes, and skin that had the matte appearance of a person who had dieted and gorged themselves on and off through their life. He must have been _delightfully _plump as a child.

The man chuckled at Sherlock's bluntness, but raised an umbrella clenched in his hand, inspecting the point as he explained. "You're not the first Slender Man I've seen. Not even the first I've spoken with-well, _to_. I believe all Slender Folk are related, so that would make you brothers with The Operator?"

"You know his name?"

"Of course."

Even as Sherlock found himself more and more irritated by this man- this _adult_ with the strangest sort of _being_ than any other human he'd encountered- he couldn't help but sense a kind of interest in him growing with each word. No human had survived a Slender Folk before, much less know their name or species specifics.

"How's that the case?"

"Easy. I'm his favorite."

"I didn't realize big brother had favorites."

"I daresay there's a lot of things about him you don't know that I do." The man tapped the railing of the bed, "But you're on the right track. You're studying me. _Deducing_ me, like he did," he shook his head, "you'll also find that no matter how much you learn about me, it won't begin to compare to what _he_ knows."

"I'm surprised he took the time to know anything at all," Sherlock tested his strength as he spoke, inching his hand along his side, trying his grip.

"You mean you're surprised he didn't kill me?" The umbrella came up again, tapping, tapping. "Not yet. You may not see it, but The Operator is patient. When he saw that I was fascinated by him- I find fascination in anything that is able to command influence and power- he decided to let me live so he could track my own quest for influence."

"I daresay you were successful."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" the man seemed offended by Sherlock's need to state his assumption. "But that's only half the deal, I'm afraid." He finally set the umbrella down. His hands came up to his jacket, disrobing from there, undoing the buttons on his shirt…

His dress shirt fell to the floor. Then Sherlock saw it- a sign only a Slender Folk could make or comprehend. On Mycroft's belly, a scarred circle with a dark 'X' crossed through it. "I always know I'll be taken someday. I am _his_. Someday, I will _be_ him. He already told me about you- years after I saw him last."

"He told you about me so you could take care of me."

"For all intents and purposes, I am your new elder brother, Sherlock."

"Hardy, I don't even know your-" Sherlock began to sit, but seized up at a strange sensation in his core. He felt stiff, rusted.

"I'm so…." But Sherlock couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't know the word. He didn't know the feeling.

"Cold. You're feeling cold." The man shook his head, contemplating. "No, I don't suppose you'd have felt that before today."

"Cold," Sherlock ruminated over the strange word. This was how the humans had felt when he and his kin stalked them. What a bizarre feeling.

Sherlock didn't like it one bit.

"Chills aside, _dear brother_, we'll have quite a bit to do to assimilate you as a human, and to make sure records show you actually _exist_," the man held out his hand for the thin-no-_slender_ man to shake. When he failed to receive a response, he leaned over. "My name is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock. And as sure as we are brothers, I'm going to take care of you."

/-/


	7. Moving

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Becca W, for her wonderful idea of portraying Mrs. Hudson. To top it off, she made a Doctor Who reference in her review. Hats off to this lovely reader!**

**/-/**

Sure Lock- no- _Sherlock _gets a last name. Holmes. He professes to his new older brother that he doesn't like it, but secretly he prides himself on the fact he has a name now. _A human name_.

He tries not to think how ordinary- how _mundane_ that makes him.

He needs to have a birth certificate, graduation, bank statements, things proving his existence. Mycroft turns out to be a man of power, practically the British government itself, and Sherlock begrudgingly admits that The Operator chose his prey well. When it comes to schooling, Mycroft decides that Sherlock will have a Masters in history, considering he's gained a working, interactive _experience_ of history since the dawn of civilization.

"There's going to be some questions about us being brothers," Sherlock confronts Mycroft one evening, the latter only just returning from a long, dull diplomatic meeting. He had jumped when Sherlock spoke. His strange new brother may have tried to leave the dark, but he still kept the stealth and mystique of a man well-adapt in hiding in the shadows.

"Anything you have thought of has rest assured gone through my mind as well," he bypassed the problem. "You've always been strange as a child…trying to _read_ people." Because of course Sherlock could read people as a human, just as well as he could as a Slender Man. He could tell their degree of being, how vicariously they lived, how they clinged to life and light. Everything that made up the events of their life was just found in the details. "You suffered a persistent on-and-off addiction to drugs, an embarrassment to the family, requiring you to be sent away to rehabilitation for an unfortunate amount of your adult life. Heroin or opium?"

"Pardon?"

"Your report. Would you like to have had an addiction to heroin or opium?"

"I'd prefer cocaine, actually."

/-/

The first time Mycroft introduced Sherlock to another person, the meeting had resulted in disaster.

"Her name's not Anthea, you can obviously see the slight flush on her neck when she lies. It's a common physiological response, almost impossible to get rid of. She clings to the blackberry like it's her lifeline, the sole piece of technology she can call her own, clearly a poor upbringing. She follows less than two steps behind you. One could easily think it's because you're much older than her and she wants to be close to a man _significantly_ resembling her father, but that'd be pure rubbish. You can't ignore the way her hair's pinned up just so, how conservative her skirt is, the reek of professionalism she's giving off. She's trying to seduce you with formality, the only pathway of flirting she thinks you'd be aware of. Judging by how long she's been your lackey- or is that too harsh a word- _secretary_, about three years, I'm surprised she's had patience for so long." Almost as an afterthought, "she should put her dog down. It won't stop waking the neighbors."

Mycroft had excused himself and the woman then. After a solid half hour (and the promise of a dinner date, Sherlock would assume) they emerged, barely worse for the wear. Mycroft gave 'Anthea' a few last-minute appointments to make, then sent her on his way. As he closed the door behind her, he gave Sherlock a withering look.

"I see we're moving on to life skills. Lesson one, _tact_."

/-/

Mycroft blamed Sherlock's incessant rants on the fact he had gone without speaking for the first few millennia of his life. How he could explain the long periods of silence and moping, though, he hadn't a clue.

Sherlock knew. He didn't tell his human 'brother,' but he knew perfectly well why he boarded himself up, alone. How could he possibly hope to explain to a human what he went through during those periods? He had gone his entire existence sensing things, _knowing_ things by instinct and supernatural might. In the past month he had gone from that to _five_ senses. Everything he used to feel and know had been channeled down into a measly count of five: sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing. It was like all the stimuli had to be funned into those senses, and every so often it would catch up with him. He would become _overwhelmed_.

"There's no way you'd be able to fit into society without raising a few eyebrows," Mycroft scolded Sherlock after the man finally left his room after days of shutting himself in. Sherlock had replied with a very curt 'piss off.'

It wasn't until the end of his next fit that Mycroft brought a new stranger home to be met. It was a middle-aged woman, dressed in mauve with a gentle exterior but a quickly sharp tongue. Sherlock had noticed that when she responded with Mycroft's insistence that she hang up her coat with "I'm a landlady dear, _not_ a housekeeper!"

Sherlock hung around the top of the steps, taking in the woman's demeanor. She peered around the stair banner, to the hall, craning her head into the receiving room, obviously looking for the reason she was here.

"All right, love, you said you had some proof, now where is it? I don't want this to be another farse where you're only going to laugh at me later for my gullibility…"

As much as Sherlock would have loved to watch this woman denounce his brother, he could sense that she was more than _just_ a housekeeper. Floorboards creaking under his feet, he took his first step down the stairs. _SNAP!_ With the first squeak, the woman's head jolted to him, eyes wide. Her breath grew shallow as Sherlock grew closer and closer, finally stopping mere feet from the woman. He towered over her, yet she never lost the wonder and deinos in her gaze.

"It's amazing," she whispered to Mycroft, never letting her eyes leave Sherlock. "He's…_real_! I mean, he's not how he should be, but even as a human…he's so imposing! Even a bit handsome, in fact! He's…he's…"

"Got a name," Sherlock finished, voice baritone, underlying a threat. The woman only squealed.

"Ooh! He's so _prideful_, too!" Before Sherlock could react, she was grasping his hand in both of hers, pumping it up and down ferociously. "My name's Martha Hudson, sir! Or, whatever name you've got as a human! What _are_ you doing as one of us, anyway? No—that's not important! I just wanted to thank you for what you did to my husband, off in America! The police said it was gang violence, but even _I _know the streets of Florida aren't that rough. Not even in CSI Miami…"

"Brother!" Sherlock desperately turned his head to an amused Mycroft. "A word?"

"Oh, but brother! Anything you want to say can be said in front of Mrs. Hudson. She's to be among your few friends here. She's a bit of a... Slender Folk _enthusiast_ if you will."

"I've been following you for _years_!" Mrs. Hudson continued, as if neither brother had spoken. "I mean, I found a few dead ends along the way, not to mention all the hoaxes those young people tried to pull up in Norway, but like I was telling your friend here, if there's anything I can do for you while you're human…"

"_Actually_, Mrs. Hudson, I haven't had the chance to tell Sherlock yet," Mycroft diverted her enthusiasm with a wave of his hand. Stepping next to Sherlock, he clasped his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Mrs. Hudson, wonderful woman that she is, has offered to put you up for as long as you need. She owns a flat down in London, and I think you'd best find whatever it is you're searching for there."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he spoke, and Sherlock got the distinct feeling that the man had been told more than he was letting on about why Sherlock had become human.

"That would be delightful." And it would be. Sherlock had fond memories of London Town—they used to be his hunting grounds, long before there were enough people there to even call it a village. "I haven't much on me though- will you be paying rent?"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Hudson slapped at his arm. "Don't even let that cross your mind. For as long as you want to stay, lodging's on me!" She leaned in, voice lowered, "I have no doubt you'll be better than the University students I had last year. They always carried on about the noise Mrs. Turner's ones made. They're engaged, you know…"

Sherlock let his gaze rise until he was looking far over Mrs. Hudson and her rambling and connecting with Mycroft's own. He could tell from the amusement there that it was time for him to start packing.


End file.
